


Playtime

by chasingriver



Series: ChasingRiver's Experiments Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dom/sub, M/M, Male Slash, Multi, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sex Toys, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-25
Updated: 2011-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/pseuds/chasingriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Lestrade decide to do something about their mutual obsession with Sherlock.<br/><img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Playtime

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Memorandum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/121231) by [Calico](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calico/pseuds/Calico). 



> Amazing artwork by [kougazgurl](http://kougazgurl.tumblr.com). Thank you!

Lestrade smiled to himself and clicked "Add to Basket." The idea had come to him while on a case. Well, not so much of an idea as a realization. The victim was a young woman in her twenties, murdered in her bedroom. Nothing remarkable about the case per se, certainly Sherlock had not been needed (thank goodness). It was her bedside table, containing a wide variety of sex toys, which had gotten him thinking. Why not? Why sodding not?

While the frenzied interlude with John in the hallway had been a welcome relief (God, he was glad he wasn't the only one obsessing over Sherlock), he didn't expect anything to happen again anytime soon. If anything, it had only made matters worse. Now, every time he saw John, all he could think about was how he'd looked with his body pressed up against the wall, his cock in Lestrade's hand, and then, in his mouth. It certainly wasn't helping his concentration. No. What he needed was some release on a more regular basis, and with something other than his hand.

The unassuming package arrived in the post a couple of days later. He'd paid for the faster shipping, of course. The very idea of it had gotten him excited.

He'd been surprised at the variety of toys available, in all different colours, shapes, and sizes – some of them realistic, some decidedly less so. It seemed clear the site generally catered towards women. He couldn't imagine shoving a dolphin shaped dildo up his arse. But then he didn't have any negative thoughts at all when it came to cocks, so why would he want to pretend it was something else? He'd gone with a realistic silicone dildo, not huge, but certainly big enough. For some reason, they hadn't had any flesh coloured ones – they were mostly bright primary colours. He'd settled on a white one with marbled streaks of colour. It reminded him of the pale expanse of Sherlock's neck, on those rare warm London days that didn't require scarves.

Lestrade unwrapped the new toy and held it. His cock twitched. It was larger than he'd expected, about the same size as he was. The silicone started to warm as he handled it. It was soft, but firmer than he had expected it to be.

He tentatively brought it to his lips and put it in his mouth. It wasn't really the same as sucking a cock – the raw smell of sex, sweaty skin pressed against his face – but there was something to be said for it. His mouth watered as he sucked on it greedily. No response from the dildo of course. None of those lovely sounds John had made when Lestrade had taken him in his mouth. But the presence of it, huge there, in his mouth, was like a sense memory. His other hand went to his cock. He was on his knees again, in front of John, soft curls tickling his face as John shoved into his mouth, his jaw aching from the stretch of it. Low, cut off moans as John came down his throat. A growl in his chest as he felt his balls tighten. He shoved the dildo in as far as he could take it, swallowing hard while he fucked his face. He groaned as he came, loving the feeling of having his mouth filled, even if it wasn't John. Or Sherlock.

He took the dildo out of his mouth, suddenly feeling slightly foolish. What would Sherlock make of this? He didn't even want to think about that. Then he smiled slightly, realizing that he hadn't even used the toy for his original intent. That would have to wait. A worthy purchase, he thought, at least until he could figure out how to improve his social prospects with Sherlock or John. And John. He smiled.

* * *

  


Lestrade started to appreciate certain benefits of having a "relationship" with a toy. It didn't require hard-to-get reservations at that new restaurant. There was no need for cute and endearing text messages sent at all hours. It certainly didn't give you quick, uncomfortable glances when you ran into him at murder investigations. Oh, wait, that was John. Damn.

Unfortunately, the sweaty, impersonal, perpetual hardness of it all had a downside. It was only as good as the movie playing in his head while he got off. The encounter with John, glorious but entirely too brief, had ruined him for generic porn. God, Sherlock's _lips_ had already done that, and he'd gotten nowhere near them.

It had been three weeks. Lestrade knew Sherlock couldn't have missed the message in the red mark he'd left on John's neck. _You're driving me mad, and I'm doing something about it._ Of course, Sherlock had said nothing, but he seemed to keep John closer to hand than usual. _He's mine. Bugger off._ Bastard. Every now and again, Sherlock would openly smirk in his direction. It was like dealing with a child.

By now, he'd seen pretty much every last one of John's quick, uncomfortable glances. He'd built up quite an extensive line of them. (Was there a market for that?) John clearly wasn't going to make the next move. (And really, who could blame him. He _lived_ with him. What must that be _like_? An exercise in unmitigated hell, surely. Look, obsess, but don't touch. He idly wondered how Sherlock's possessive streak translated into his behaviour at home. He felt another stab of sympathy for John.)

Lestrade didn't have the bollocks to send Sherlock any more _messages_ , not at the moment. But John had certainly seemed amenable that night in that hallway. No point in all of them being miserable, after all.

He texted John.

_Want to meet at the cafe for an update on the case?_

_GL_

_I can think of better places to meet, and better things to do._

_JW_

Lestrade smirked. Things were looking up. He hurriedly texted John the address to his flat.

_See you in 20._

_JW_

He glanced around the flat. Clean enough. Then he hurried into the bedroom and made the bed.

A knock on the door. Don't be too eager. Count to ten. Breathe. Eighteen minutes since the text. Somebody had been thinking about this as much as he had.

John's face was slightly flushed. He was breathing more quickly than normal. (They both were.) He was wearing that black coat that suited him so nicely. Jesus, Sherlock was rubbing off on him. (Oh, now _there_ was a delicious thought. Not. _Now_.)

"Greg."

"Come in."

Lestrade pushed John up against the hastily closed door, and kissed him roughly. God, he'd missed this. John apparently had too, kissing him back and pressing against him, seemingly trying to meld their bodies together. He forgot all about seeming too eager.

"Bed?"

"God, yes." John's voice an octave lower than usual.

Lestrade stumbled towards the bedroom, John followed.

* * *

  


They fell on the bed in a tangled heap of limbs and need, frantically kissing and grinding into each other. Greg's hand found the back of John's neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss, while his other hand searched for the bulge in John's trousers. John decided to skip the formalities all together and plunged his hand straight down the front of Greg's trousers, shuddering as he found his already-hard cock.

Greg's teeth latched on to John's lower lip and slowly tugged. John let out just a hint of a moan. They both paused and opened their eyes, and simultaneously concluded that they needed to be much more naked. Right. Now.

John had the distinct advantage here – one of those comfy jumpers with a t-shirt underneath. It was gone in an instant, while Greg was desperately fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. _He should have changed first. Must make a note for next time. (Next time?) Damn it all, shirt still only half open._

Abandoning the shirt, Greg went to work on his trousers and shoes, soon kicked off into a pile in the corner of the room. John, naked now ( _Nngh._ _Concentrate!_ ), took pity on the shirt situation and helped with the buttons.

Well, at least Greg thought that was the situation.

John smirked as he realized Greg had failed to undo his cuffs. John finished the front buttons and pulled the shirt off, catching Greg's hands in the unbuttoned cuffs behind his back. Grabbing the shirt by the sleeves and wrapping it around his hand, he pulled it down and back around to the front, effectively immobilizing Greg's arms, and pulling back those lovely broad shoulders.

 _Hm,_ John thought. _Definitely a good look for him._ He filed that away for later.

A look of surprise, and Greg's eyes are wide open now. _He wasn't expecting that._ John raises his eyebrows slightly, asking for permission, and Greg grins hugely and lunges towards John, sending them both back onto the bed.

The second meeting of the Sherlock Holmes Sexual Frustration Club is officially called to order, Gregory Lestrade, presiding. Or perhaps submitting. They're not sure yet.

Would the Secretary please read the minutes from the last meeting? Ah yes, there had been _Introductions_. Greg's hand met John's cock. John's cock met Greg's mouth, Greg's mouth met John's neck, and John's neck met Sherlock's gaze. The ambient temperature in London had been raised a fraction of a degree and stayed there.

Old Business? If John recalled correctly (as if he could forget, he'd been replaying it in his head now for _three weeks_ ), he owed Greg one.

Greg had ended up on the bed on his back, arms pinned beneath him, wearing nothing but his boxers. _How had he neglected to take those off? Oh, right, the sudden loss of the use of his arms._ What he hadn't expected just how much the idea of submitting to John turned him _on_.

John knelt over him. Then he smiled and licked his lips as pulled off Greg's boxers. His rigid cock sprung free, and they were both naked. The shirt had officially been reclassified as bondage equipment and no longer counted as clothing.

Time actually slowed down, just a little bit, as they looked over each other, drinking in the new territory. And then lurched jarringly forward as John's mouth told Time to stuff it, and started busying itself with Greg's cock.

Greg groaned. It felt wonderful. John's mouth was wet and slippery and hot, and his tongue was doing all the right things to the head of his cock. He arched into it, pushing his cock further into John's mouth. John didn't seem to mind, and greedily took him deeper. Then John's fingers dug almost painfully into Greg's hips, holding him to the bed while he pulled off just to the tip of his cock and teased it with his tongue.

Greg squirmed helplessly. The lack of control was frustrating, but intoxicating at the same time. John was already sitting on his legs. Once his hands pinned his hips, he couldn't even thrust upwards (not that he didn't try).

John flicked his eyebrows as he gave him another evil grin, and took Greg all the way back into his mouth. Greg's brain, having already given up, idly wondered if John also had a complete line of Evil Grins, in addition to his well-stocked line of Uncomfortable Glances.

John loosened his grip on Greg's left hip and reached up towards his mouth. Greg started sucking eagerly on three of John's fingers, as if they were his cock. It felt so _good_ to have something in his mouth. Sure, he'd rather it was John's cock, but still, it gave his mouth something to do. His hands were still clenched into tight fists behind his back, his shoulders starting to ache, in a good way, from the stretch of being pulled back.

John took his fingers back, and Greg moaned at the loss. He used his slick fingers to rub Greg's balls, which dropped the tone of Greg's objections down an octave as he started squirming again. John's mouth had gotten into a definite rhythm now, four or five deep strokes, and then he'd take him slow and really deep, swallowing to let his throat stimulate the head of his cock.

On one of these deep strokes, he moved his fingers back behind Greg's balls, and released Greg's other hip so he could arch up a bit. As he massaged his perineum, Greg's moans got louder and he tilted his arse towards John. He moved one finger to the outside of his hole and rubbed slickly over it. He heard a huge, gulping breath. John smiled to himself, and slowly but firmly eased his slick finger up into Greg's arse. Greg shuddered, made the most sexual noise John had _ever heard,_ jammed his cock deep into John's throat, and came, in deep, shuddering gasps. He could feel the sensation in Greg's tight arse around his finger as it happened. John swallowed and slowly removed his finger. That pretty much completed the Old Business. At least now they were _even_ , if someone was keeping score.

He sat up and moved to capture Greg's lips in a kiss. Greg tried to do the same, only to flail around on the bed, somewhat helplessly. His hands were still trapped behind his back in his crumpled shirt.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot."

"No apology necessary", said Greg, his voice still ragged. John bent down and kissed him deeply, Greg's taste still in his mouth.

John giggled. "That's the first thing we've said to each other since I got here."

Greg laughed. "I'm not a big conversationalist."

John helped Greg sit up and removed the shirt from his wrists. Greg flexed his stiff shoulders, and John rubbed them, getting the circulation going again. They kissed again, languidly, John apparently able to ignore his arousal for the time being.

Greg stood up and said, "Something to drink, eat? I don't know about you, but I'm famished all of a sudden."

"God, yeah. Tea'd be great. Just milk."

Greg's neighbor Mirith had previously dropped by some tea cake she'd made. Perfect. Greg nakedly wandered out into the kitchen and put the kettle on. John wandered out to join him.

The second meeting of the Sherlock Holmes Sexual Frustration Club took a brief recess for refreshments and fortifications. It was going to be a long meeting. They could tell.

* * *

  


Greg put the kettle on, thankful he'd invested in an electric kettle for naked occasions such as this. John wandered in, all gorgeous and naked and half-hard, and looking a little high on endorphins. Greg thought he might be a little high himself.

"You cold?"

John laughed. "Not yet, certainly."

"I was going to offer to get us a couple of dressing gowns while I made the tea, but now I'm torn between staring at you and being polite."

John blushed.

"I'll be right back."

Greg came back with two dressing gowns. He only had two – one for summer and one for winter. He let John pick. He picked the winter one.

They both shrugged into them, started to tie them closed, and paused. John smiled broadly. "Perhaps we don't actually have to close them." John giggled again, and Greg laughed. Their mouths met in a kiss as they drew each other close for a while. John eventually broke the kiss and leaned his head on Greg's shoulder. He sighed softly. "This is nice."

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Mmm. Yeah."

They sat at the table and waited for the kettle to boil.

"So…"

Greg looked up.

"How long have you been a member of this elite club?"

Greg didn't have to ask what he meant. "Long as I've known him, I 'spose. He's always gotten under my skin. At first he just irritated me, but then I started to find him fascinating, and it was all downhill from there. Lately, it's…well…you know."

"Yes."

"What's it like? Living with him?"

"Frustrating, on multiple levels. But I'm rarely bored."

"I'd suppose not. But you've never, you know, done anything…?" Greg trailed off. It seemed rude to come out and say it.

"I don't know if he's asexual, or inexperienced, or not interested, or what. But he _stares_ at me sometimes, and it's like his eyes go straight through me. It's not like he even tries to hide it. If it was anyone else, I'd say it was flirting, but with him, I have no idea what it is."

Greg wasn't sure if he should bring it up. Why not, though, really? "So, ever since the, um, message I left on your neck three weeks ago…"

"It's almost like he's been more possessive of me. Keeps me closer, takes me along more often, that type of thing."

"Yeah. I'd noticed that too. Um…"

"What?"

"Well, I could swear he's been taunting me about it. I don't know, sort of rubbing my nose in it that I can't have you. That you're his."

"What?" John's voice had a slightly hysterical edge to it and it looked like his endorphin high had completely evaporated. He stood up and started pacing, restlessly.

"I'm sorry…"

"No, no, it's not you. Damn him. He's known all along. That fucking bastard. I feel so stupid."

Greg belatedly realized he should have kept his mouth shut, after all.

"Is it possible he just doesn't know how to _be_ emotionally involved with someone? I mean, look at his relationship with Mycroft, for fuck's sake. Perhaps he _**was**_ flirting."

"…"

"Actually, do we know of anyone he _does_ have a good emotional relationship with? Fuck, anyone he can even relate to?"

There was a short pause. "No. But that doesn't make it okay to do what he's doing."

"I agree, but we're dealing with someone who has the intelligence of a small planet and absolutely no experience in relating to people emotionally. Most people pick that up at school, but I imagine he didn't make much of an effort to fit in. I don't gather he made many friends at uni, and before that, it was probably some stuffy boarding school. We're the closest friends he has, and look how he treats us."

John gave a short, rueful laugh.

Greg continued, "He loves to tell people what he's deduced about them. It makes him feel superior, and unnerves them. Exposure to that for any period of time, and people either end up hating him, or…" He trailed off, looking a little sheepish.

"Obsessing about him?"

"Something like that. So." Greg looked back up at John, still pacing, dressing gown still hanging open. _Look at his eyes._ "Where does that leave _us_ , exactly?"

"In desperate need of some relief, if you ask me." A wry smile. _Maybe the whole night (and his burgeoning friendship with John) hadn't gone to hell._

As if on cue, the kettle came to a boil. Tea was made. Mirith's delicious almond tea cake was served, and the air seemed to clear a bit.

"So, what do we do next? About Sherlock, I mean." John, again looking more serious.

"We confront him, and then watch the fireworks. Take it from there, I 'spose."

"And us?"

"I don't feel like this affects our working relationship. Do you?"

"No, actually, it's sort of cathartic." John suddenly grinned madly. "And the sex is ridiculously hot."

"You could say that." Greg blushed. It had been a while since anyone had described being with him as _ridiculously hot_.

Greg glanced down the hallway with a questioning look on his face.

John, smiling, nodded.

Greg grabbed a few more slices of the tea cake on a plate for later. Just in case they needed it.

* * *

  


"You know, I'd never been tied up before."

"Technically, you were just stuck in your shirt." Smirk.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah." Pause. "Did you like it?"

"God, yes."

"Good."

There was something about the way he said it though. It wasn't " _Good, I'm glad you enjoyed it."_ It had an edge to it. It was " _Good, because it's going to be happening a lot."_ Greg felt all the blood in his body rush to his groin. John was looking intently at Greg, not breaking eye contact.

"What else did you like?"

"Um, all of it, actually."

"Did you like my finger up your arse?"

Somehow the small remaining quantity of blood that wasn't in his groin managed to make its way to his cheeks, and he blushed furiously.

Greg caved, and broke eye contact. "Yes." Not sure why he was embarrassed about admitting this.

"Look at me."

Greg felt thrills run through his stomach. He met John's gaze, cheeks still burning.

"Do you want my cock up your arse?"

"More than anything."

"Good." That odd _inflection_ again.

John leaned in, and kissed him gently. He slipped Greg's dressing gown from his shoulders, and removed his own. They stepped closer together, naked once again, their cocks rubbing against each other. "Anything you _don't_ want me to do?"

"I'll certainly let you know."

"Mmm. You do that." John fisted his hair and pulled him in for a searing kiss. Rough and hard and sudden.

Greg suddenly felt like his knees didn't work and swayed slightly.

John grabbed him around the waist to steady him, and continued his assault on Greg's mouth.

Greg moaned, open mouthed, into the kiss. Why was this getting to him like this? It wasn't like this was his first time or anything. But those thrills running through his stomach were back again, and it hit him. It was just like the shirt. It was the submission. _Dense much?_ That was his cock, telling him what his brain had just figured out.

John felt the brief hesitation, and pulled back, suddenly gentle again. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Pause. "I guess I just sorted out I get off on being submissive. Seems pretty bloody obvious now, but if you'd asked me before tonight…" He trailed off.

John smiled kindly. "Don't worry. You don't have to let it define who you are. Part of the reason you probably enjoy it is because you spend most of your professional life in control of everyone and everything. It can be a nice break, believe me."

"Really? You too?"

"Yep. It's not like you have to commit to one role or the other, you know." John gave him that glorious grin. "Now, where were we?"

This time, Greg was the one with his fist in John's hair, tugging on John's lower lip with his teeth, and running his fingernails down John's back. John arched into it and moaned, pressing them closer together.

"Now," John muttered breathlessly, "about my cock up your arse…"

Words failed Greg, and he just groaned, again.

"Lube?"

"Bedside drawer." Oh, shit. He'd forgotten about the dildo. Oh well. _Too late now._

John opened the drawer to grab the lube and looked at the dildo, with a slight frown on his face.

Greg blushed. Again. This was getting to be a habit. "What?" Alright, maybe that came out with just a hint of a defensive tone.

"Nothing, it's just..." Pause. "It's fucking brilliant. It never occurred to me. That's fucking brilliant." He shook his head. "I always use my fingers. My arm cramps up something fierce."

They both started laughing then.

John grabbed the dildo and the lube and pushed him playfully backwards onto the bed. He was still looking at the dildo, squeezing it, sizing it up, as it were. "It's pretty big."

"So are you," Greg replied with a grin.

"No, I mean, do you ever use it to start off with…"

"I only got it a couple weeks ago. I didn't really think it through when I ordered it – I still need to work up to it with my fingers. Having a smaller one to start off with would be better."

"Hm. Yes." John nodded thoughtfully. "Not the only use for it though." Smiling sweetly at Greg, he placed it to the side. "Now, you. Where were we?" Greg was on his back, on the bed, still pondering the implications (and marketing possibilities) of the Innocent Smile. John pushed his legs apart and moved between them. He knelt over him, his body pressing up against Greg's cock, and licked a slow, incendiary line from his stomach to his right nipple.

Greg's breath caught in his chest. John's tongue circled his nipple, and flicked at it. Then he blew on it, and Greg's nipple did its best to imitate a mountain range. When John pinched it, Greg let out a ridiculously loud moan.

"So, that's what you were talking about in the hallway that night."

Greg blushed. Again. "Yeah. I can be a bit loud."

John glanced _meaningfully_ at the dildo. "Do I have to gag you?"

"Um, yes, I think you do." _Try not to look triumphant._

John picked up the dildo, and ever so slowly forced it into Greg's mouth. Greg groaned (more quietly, with the dildo in his mouth), licking his lips furiously to try and get it all inside.

"Can you breathe alright?"

Greg nodded.

For the second time that night, he felt John's mouth around his cock. He melted into the bed and his brain sizzled, lightly.

John took his time. No point in rushing this. He alternated between soft, gentle suction and teasing strokes around the head with his tongue. His fingers gently caressed Greg's balls and rubbed his thigh as he sucked. It was almost…contemplative. He was learning new places to elicit those little groans. It took John a while to remember this train of thought had a destination, and that destination was most definitely Greg's arse.

Somewhere, off to the side, Greg's ears registered the sound of the lube cap opening, but the message never made it through the endorphin-fuelled haze in his brain. All he could concentrate on was the sensations John was producing in his cock. It was almost leisurely. Relaxing.

John shifted slightly. No response from Greg. John stopped nursing Greg's cock long enough to ask, "You still with me?"

"Mmmmm."

 _So that's a "no", then._ John smiled. He honestly felt a little bad about this. It was going to be like pulling off a plaster - best just to get it over with all at once. He knew where Greg was, what that haze felt like. Fuck, he'd been there himself just a few minutes ago. It was okay though; this was going to feel pretty amazing as well. Greg would soon be back, basking in that endorphin haze. But first he was going to fuck him through the mattress.

John leaned up so he was directly over him, and gently touched the sides of his face. Greg's eye's opened immediately, but they were dark, completely dilated.

"Hi."

"Mforry." John removed the dildo. "Sorry. I guess I got a little blissed out. Maybe it's the almond cake." He trailed off. It had been extraordinarily good cake, but Mirith's baking usually didn't affect him like this.

John shook his head and grinned slightly. "S'okay. You sure you're up for this?" John hoped to hell he was. He was hard as a rock and really, really, wanted to fuck that glorious arse of his. He just didn't want to be rude about it.

Greg worked his eyes back into focus, and tried to show John he was back. "Please."

Suddenly, the dildo was back between his lips, and John was between his legs, his tongue slicking him up and working in and out of his arse. Greg groaned around the dildo. _It is quieter. Huh._

John was a patient man. He lived with Sherlock, for fuck's sake. But it was right about then that his cock started demanding some serious attention. He poured some lube on his fingers, and started working them up Greg's arse. One of them brushed over his prostate, lightly. Ah, _now_ Greg was with him. Right. Fucking. There. _Evil Grin Number 37._

Greg spasmed when John glanced over his prostate. Holy fuck, that was hot. He shifted his arse up towards John so he could get a better angle. Bloody hell, John already had three fingers inside him. He groaned around the dildo, much more earnestly than before.

"Ready?"

Greg groaned what he sincerely hoped sounded like assent. He felt John's fingers slip out of him, and felt the head of John's cock lining up against his hole.

With one long, slow push, John forced his slicked-up cock all the way into Greg. He felt, more than heard, Greg moaning with pleasure beneath him. He paused for a few seconds to let him adjust, and started moving in and out of him in a steady rhythm. Fuck, that felt good. He wasn't going to last long at this rate. He changed his angle slightly so he'd hit Greg's prostate a few more times. He reached up and removed the dildo from Greg's mouth. "I decided I wanted to hear what sort of things you say when I'm fucking you."

"Harder." Pause. "Please."

 _Yeah, better without the dildo._ "Mmmm." Now he was at a loss for words, as he pulled almost all the way out, and drove back balls-deep into Greg's arse.

"Yessssss…"

He could feel his orgasm looming. Just. Over. _There._ Greg was rock hard, and looked like he was pretty close as well. John slammed into him, hard, catching his prostate each time. The sounds coming out of Greg's mouth weren't words, but each one brought John just that much closer, and soon he was coming deep inside Greg's arse, shuddering, and moaning a fair bit himself. He reached up and stroked Greg's cock, once, twice, and then he was there too.

John flopped on the bed beside Greg, and giggled, just a little. "That was really, really good." His words were just a little bit slurred. Endorphins.

"Mmmm." Greg looked over at him and smiled.

They spent the next ten minutes or so languidly kissing and coming down off the endorphins, and eventually dragged themselves into the shower.

Refreshed, and suddenly ravenous again, they polished off the last of the almond cake. Greg looked outside. It was Saturday, and people were walking along the pavement outside the flat. It had started to get dark. "John?"

"Hm?"

"Um. _Where,_ exactly, did you tell Sherlock you were going…?"

* * *

  


It had started three weeks ago after that diabetic girlfriend case. Twenty two days and fourteen hours ago, to be precise. John had walked into the flat looking like he'd been ridden hard and put away wet. No, he hadn't really looked like that. To anyone else, it might not have been obvious. But you might as well have taped a large sign to him that said "Made it with Lestrade in the hallway downstairs."

Where to start? Judging by the blown-out pupils and slightly slurred speech, he'd definitely had an orgasm. Foggy thinking. Perspiring, despite the cool temperature. Bite marks on the heel of his thumb. Trying not to cry out, no doubt. Lips: red and slightly swollen. The scent of Lestrade's shampoo on John's fingers. _(Why would he want to put his hands in Lestrade's hair? Is this a sexual thing or merely logistical? Investigate.)_ And his neck. Could Lestrade have _been_ any more obvious? That warm, red mark on John's throat. He might as well have sent Sherlock a formal letterpress announcement of the occasion.

Wait. Think.

Lestrade had been acting oddly around him for a while now. Whenever they made inadvertent physical contact, Lestrade would touch the spot afterwards, as if cataloguing it for future reference. The first time it happened, Sherlock had thought nothing of it – an unconscious reaction to physical stimulation, perhaps. John did the same thing, and had for a while. The second time it happened, it had become an experiment. Did other people do the same thing? ( _No, just John and Lestrade.)_ Did Lestrade do this with anyone else? ( _No, just him.)_ How often could he accidently brush against Lestrade and make him do this without attracting attention to himself? ( _Quite a lot, it turns out.)_ The more he did it, the more uncomfortable Lestrade seemed to get, although he seemed careful not to let it show. Sherlock had noticed he would wait until Sherlock wasn't looking to touch the area and catalogue it. It definitely wasn't an automatic response. He knew what he was doing.

Why would Lestrade want to catalogue their physical interactions? Lestrade could have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - the compulsion to repeat certain actions to produce a calming effect. He hadn't seen any other evidence of OCD in Lestrade's behaviour though. Unlikely, but possible. Perhaps physical contact repulsed him? He hadn't observed that when Lestrade interacted with others. And if John's current _debauched_ state was any indication, _that_ hypothesis was a dead end.

New line of thinking. Lestrade is sexually attracted to John. Evidence: the liaison in the hallway. Why, then, does _his_ touch cause the response? Wouldn't he respond that way to John if this was some sort of sexual stimulus for him? He'd never observed that. On the contrary, Lestrade and John frequently interacted and incidentally touched without subsequent incident.

Lestrade is sexually attracted to me? That's interesting. Unlikely, but interesting. Surely he's aware that I don't _do_ that sort of thing. It would explain the odd physical interactions, certainly. This was only _reaction_ to a stimulus though. Lestrade was not instigating anything. Oh, but he had. He _just_ had. It _was_ a fucking engraved announcement. _"I just fucked John in the hallway because you are making me crazy."_ But certainly, John had been compliant, even willing. What of that?

Additional line of investigation. Is John attracted to Lestrade? Not particularly, that he'd noticed. And why is _John_ reacting that way to my touches? Is John also sexually attracted to me? Why hasn't he done anything about it? ( _He knows I don't do that sort of thing.)_

Was their act one of sexual frustration? ( _That was certainly a possibility. Neither of them socialized much._ ) Why would they be so _obvious_ about it, though? This was England after all, weren't people supposed to be ashamed of sexual urges?

Why would John willingly allow Lestrade to broadcast their indiscretion by leaving that mark on his neck? Didn't he realize what Lestrade was doing? ( _Unlikely, it would have taken at least a couple seconds of effort on Lestrade's part. Not likely to go unnoticed.)_ Okay, so he realized and willingly complied to being the message Lestrade was sending. Were they collaborating on the message? Was it actually " _I just fucked John in the hallway and he let me because you are making us both crazy_."

He didn't want to confront John. Their existence as roommates was going far too well to risk that. He didn't want to confront Lestrade, certainly. He was _not_ about to dignify this with a response. Well, not an obvious one at least.

And so, for the past twenty two days, he'd kept John close by - watched his interactions more closely. Lestrade had seemed somehow irritated by this, which pleased him. ( _More evidence for Lestrade being interested in John. Therefore, keep John away from Lestrade.)_

But four hours ago, John had left 221B Baker St. He'd said he was "going out" but gave no destination, which was unlike him. And now it was getting dark, and he'd not had so much as a text message.

He dug through a stack of manila folders. _Lestrade, Gregory._ Mycroft could be handy at times. He scanned the sheets for Lestrade's address, put on his black coat, and briskly strode out into the London evening.

* * *

  


John groaned. "I didn't. But it's not like that's ever stopped him before. He's here, isn't he." It was a statement, not a question.

"Just getting out of the taxi now." Greg turned from the window, and sighed. He'd hoped for more time to prepare for this. Months, preferably. This pretty much closed the Old Business portion of the meeting, and dropped them right in the middle of New Business, whether they liked it or not.

Both men tied the belts on their dressing gowns.

Sherlock strode up the steps and knocked on the door. Greg opened it.

"Lestrade."

"Sherlock."

"John."

"Sherlock."

"Come in."

"Am I interrupting?" Sherlock asked, and smirked as he raised an eyebrow. He was mostly just being vicious. Of course he knew he was interrupting.

"Isn't that why you're here?" John replied.

"Hmmm." Sherlock replied absently as he scanned Lestrade's flat. Fairly neat and tidy, but not compulsively so. ( _He'd ruled out OCD anyway.)_ Two cups of tea ( _already drunk, and no signs of recent kettle activity)_ and remains of cake in the kitchen. Bedroom down the hallway. Random bits of clothing, just at the edge of view, lay littered about. And they were wearing dressing gowns. ( _Closed_.) That made it seem highly unlikely that they'd just been chatting. It could have been some disastrous tea spill that required immediate laundering, but that was negated by the random bits of clothing on the floor of the bedroom. _Unless… unless Lestrade had extremely unusual laundry habits. No, unlikely._ He finished his survey of the flat and looked at John and Lestrade. Oh. Yes. There had definitely been sexual activity here. They were both veritable human catalogues of post-coital indicators.

They stood, and waited. John had seen less tension when they defused bombs in Afghanistan.

They were English. There was only one way they were going to get through this. "Tea?"

"Thank you."

Lestrade headed hastily towards the kitchen, and John silently cursed him for making an escape.

"Hello, Sherlock."

"Hello, John."

"Are you upset?" It seemed like a stupid question, of course. Why else would he be here? But he didn't seem _overtly_ upset. More like…curious. _And, really_ , _why should he be upset? It wasn't like they were in a relationship. They were roommates. He'd tried to go out on dates before. True, Sherlock had ruined most of them, but still._

"No, I'm not upset."

"Why are you here?" John had learned long ago, the easiest way to get answers from Sherlock was to ask direct questions.

Sherlock had thought about that. ( _Of course he had.)_ True, he'd only had the length of the taxi ride to ponder it, but it was a start. "I think I'm… jealous." Pause. "I'm not sure."

"Not sure if you're jealous, or not sure why you're here?"

Pause. "Both." "Are you attracted to me, John?"

"Yes." John had figured that out long ago. No point in hiding it now.

"Is that why you react oddly when I touch you?"

 _This is going to be Interpersonal Relations 101. Great._ "Yes."

"Lestrade, what about you?" He'd been listening from the kitchen, of course.

"Yes." Pause. "To both." _Well. Now that was out there._ _Fuck._

Sherlock grinned slightly. _He'd gotten that right at least. That was… gratifying._

Greg wandered back into the front room. The kettle was on, and there was no point in leaving John to face this alone. He already felt a bit guilty for making an exit, but things seemed to be going well enough so far. He'd been furiously trying to think of what approach they should take to this entire situation. John seemed to be going with brutal honesty, and damned if it didn't seem to be working. Nothing had been thrown, voices had not been raised. Sherlock had not stormed out in a huff…

"We should sit down." Greg took the armchair. John and Sherlock sat on the settee.

John spoke now. "Jealous…of what we're doing?"

"Are you dating him, John?"

John felt the blood rush to his cheeks. "Not… exactly."

Greg looked at the rug, wishing he was elsewhere. "I initiated it. It's not his fault."

"I'm not trying to assign blame. I'm trying to assess the situation."

"Sherlock." Pause. "I'd gotten the impression you didn't, um, date. Was I wrong?" John clearly felt out of his depth here.

"I generally find it unnecessary to interact sexually with others. I did some preliminary research in university and decided that it was not to my taste." He paused, but seemed to be internally debating whether or not to continue.

"But?" John was rapt, and couldn't believe they were having this conversation.

"But." Long pause. "Perhaps, further experimentation is required."

Greg gaped. John followed suit. John had just started to believe in a god, and he suspected Greg had too.

"With…?"

"With both of you of course, if you're amenable. More data points."

"At once?" John sounded incredulous. Greg finally realized he should close his mouth.

"Do you have a good reason why not?"

Greg decided it was time to go and make the tea. He came back with a tray bearing three mugs and a plate of Jammy Dodgers. "Um, sorry, we finished the cake…"

After a sip of tea, Sherlock continued. "I find you both attractive. You both seem to find me attractive. Clearly, you also have some level of mutual attraction." He smirked, glancing at the dressing gowns. "I propose a series of experiments. My initial research was, at best, inconclusive. What do you say?"

Greg looked at John. Clearly he had more to lose here, he did _live_ with him.

"How will this affect our living arrangements?"

"It won't. This is purely for experimental purposes at this point."

John's heart skipped a beat at the last part of that sentence, but willed himself to ignore it for now.

"Then I'm game. Greg?"

Greg could not believe this was happening. He'd clearly lost his mind a few minutes back and was now suffering from auditory hallucinations. Perhaps something in the Jammie Dodgers? It had been a weird day for tea cakes… What the hell. "I'm in."

"Well then, let's get to it. I believe this sort of thing is usually conducted in the bedroom?"

John and Greg just stared at each other in disbelief, and followed him down the hallway.

"Is it always this untidy?"

"It is if you're doing it right," replied Greg, with a smirk. John giggled. Sherlock looked at them both, and actually smiled.

Greg mumbled something about fresh sheets and disappeared back down the hallway. He came back with a clean sheet and quickly stripped and remade the bed. He honestly couldn't see the point in making it completely. It clearly wasn't going to stay made for long.

John had been going around picking up various pieces of clothing and folding them. It wasn't normally the sort of thing he'd do, but he was a bit nervous. ( _A bit? Who was he kidding? This was terrifying. And also thrilling and wonderful and surely he'd done something right in a previous life to be this fortunate now. Sherlock Holmes wanted to experiment. With him. On him. Hopefully_ _ **in**_ _him.)_ He got a little weak in the knees at the last thought. His brain told the nervousness to Piss Off and started flooding itself with dopamine.

He picked up Greg's shirt with a small grin and attempted to smooth it out a bit and fold it. It had retained more of its Bondage Equipment characteristics than Clothing characteristics, and he suspected it was a lost cause. A noble casualty though, and he thought Greg would probably agree. He noticed Sherlock watching him with curiosity, clearly trying to figure out how on earth the shirt had gotten in that state.

Sherlock leapt onto the newly made bed and sat in the middle, resting up against the headboard, fully clothed. He gleefully patted the spots next to him. "Come on then." John and Greg looked at each other with mild disbelief, and crawled up onto the bed beside him.

"So," started Sherlock, "I've come up with a list."

"Have you now…?" Greg couldn't repress a small giggle.

Sherlock continued, ignoring the outburst. "I thought we could take it alphabetically starting with…"

Greg leaned in and kissed him deeply, to shut him up. If they were going to do this, it wasn't going to be with an agenda and bullet points. If Sherlock wanted to alphabetize it after the fact, that was up to him.

Sherlock was caught off guard, and it took a few heartbeats for him to respond to Greg's insistent mouth. _This is…nice. Warm, wet. Why is he doing that with his tongue? Ooh. Oh, that's really nice._ He tried relaxing his lips. That was a definite improvement. He tentatively curled his tongue around Greg's, and Greg moaned, and kissed him harder. Sherlock's cock twitched. _What the fuck? It had never done that while kissing someone before. Clearly he hadn't been doing it right._

John watched them kiss with interest, wondering if Sherlock would try and regain control of the situation. He could actually see when Sherlock stopped fighting it and started to kiss back. This was good. This was very good. With Sherlock turned towards Greg, a distractingly large expanse of Sherlock's neck was _right there._ Clearly, that needed some attention. He leaned in towards Sherlock and curled himself around him. _Bloody hell,_ his brain screamed, _physical contact._ He was warm and smelled like cloves and oranges. He inhaled deeply, pressed his lips against Sherlock's ivory skin, and started licking slow circles just below the base of his jaw, sucking lightly. Sherlock moaned. He _actually_ moaned. He'd never heard him make _that_ noise before. _Holy fuck, that was hot._ John's cock enthusiastically agreed. He tried lightly scraping his teeth across his neck. _Sherlock isn't the only one who can conduct experiments._ He was rewarded with another moan, slightly lower than the last. John's brain realized it was losing the battle for rational thought and gleefully abandoned itself to the flood of neurochemicals as he explored Sherlock's neck. John reached Sherlock's unbuttoned collar, nudged it out of the way, and started teasing the small hollow above his collarbone.

Greg was still kissing Sherlock, his hand now with a firm grasp of Sherlock's thick curls at the base of his neck. He'd been thrilled to discover he was a quick learner. Sherlock had actively started kissing back shortly after he'd started, and that was just all kinds of good. He decided it was time to move things along a little, and reached down towards Sherlock's groin. He pressed firmly against his trousers, cupping Sherlock's erection in the palm of his hand. Sherlock arched into it, and groaned loudly. Yeah. _What does your rational mind think of that?_

For the first time in his life, Sherlock was having trouble keeping up. It was sensory overload – his mouth, Greg's hand in his hair ( _there was that hair thing again - it didn't seem to be a logistical thing, and it did feel really good),_ John nuzzling his neck, the warm swirly feelings in his stomach. His cock was doing things completely of its own volition, which was unnerving, but he decided he could go with it. Eventually he gave up trying to actively analyse the situation, shifted his brain to record-only mode, and abandoned himself to the sensation of it all. His brain heaved a small sigh of relief and happily started taking meticulous notes of the proceedings for later analysis.

Greg was actively rubbing Sherlock's cock through his trousers now. John, while still occupied with Sherlock's neck, had also started rubbing on his gorgeous expanse of arse. His other hand was playing with Sherlock's nipple through his shirt, gently teaching Sherlock a thing or two about pleasurable pain. Being wrapped around Sherlock like this gave him the leverage he needed to really go to town on Sherlock's neck. Besides. Wrapped around Sherlock. What was there not to love about that?

Clothes had now started to get seriously _in the way_ , and needed to be removed. Greg and John took a break from their pleasant oral fixations to remedy that. Sherlock's mouth was suddenly unoccupied, and it only took him a second to realise this. "You know, it's actually quite remarkable…" Greg gave John a nod ( _your turn)_ , and John's mouth closed Sherlock's in a searing kiss.

The moment he touched Sherlock's lips, John felt like someone had sucked all the air out the room. Kissing Sherlock. Sherlock Fucking Holmes. He'd been thinking about this for months. Apparently Sherlock was a quick study, because those gorgeous lips of his were more eager and responsive than John could have ever imagined. It was intoxicating, and so… intimate. He revelled in the taste of his mouth, abandoning the buttons to reach up and touch his face, his cheekbones, almost wincing at how good it felt. God, he'd wanted this. He needed this. His other hand found itself in Sherlock's hair, fisting it, and pulling him in closer. Sherlock's hands rubbing all over his head and neck now, kissing him deeply, tugging on John's lips with his teeth and moaning.

Gregory Lestrade had seen a lot of things in his lifetime, but he'd never seen anything quite as powerful as this. He quietly sat back and watched, in awe. Watching these two remarkable men kiss was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he just sat there, and beamed.

Eventually, John and Sherlock came up for air, and rested their foreheads together, their breathing ragged. For once, Sherlock had absolutely nothing to say.

John and Greg made quick work of the rest of Sherlock's clothes, and shed their robes in a heap on the floor. Sherlock looked a little dazed, his brain lost somewhere in low Earth orbit. John gently touched his face and drew his focus. "You okay?"

Sherlock nodded, and smiled weakly.

John and Greg lay on either side of him, and wrapped themselves around him, enjoying the warm contact of skin and the hard press of flesh against each other.

They were in uncharted territory here. None of them had ever been with more than one person at a time. It seemed like it could get so _complicated_ with three of them. Wordlessly, Greg and John decided that _this time_ was going to be all about Sherlock. If he had a problem with that, he didn't say anything, or was too blissed out to care.

Sherlock was lying on his side, Greg behind him and John at his front. Greg started mapping Sherlock's back with his mouth and tongue, eliciting small moans every time he found a good spot. His hands caressed and kneaded his arse. John shifted down the bed to be closer to Sherlock's cock. He gazed at it for a few moments, and shook his head. Never, in a million years, had he dreamed of getting quite this lucky. His cock was long, but, unlike the rest of his body, was certainly not slender. It was, quite simply, magnificent, and John's mouth watered.

Teasing the head of it with his tongue elicited a fantastic groan from Sherlock. John did that a few more times for good measure, and in one long, wet motion, took Sherlock in his mouth. Sherlock arched his back convulsively and gripped the sheet, pushing even more deeply into John's mouth. John had taken him almost all the way down his length, Sherlock's curls tickling his forehead.

Greg moved down the bed as well, eager to put his mouth to better use. When he reached Sherlock's gorgeous arse, he just had to give it a little bite. Really. It was impossible to resist. Sherlock jumped slightly and let out a small cry, forcing his cock further into John's throat, which led to a slightly louder moan. Greg wasn't sure if that was John or Sherlock, or both of them. He decided it didn't really matter. Greg cupped his arse cheeks and spread them slightly, lowering his mouth to tease Sherlock's hole with his tongue. That moan was definitely from Sherlock. He started with teasing little circular strokes around the outside, and then gently blew on the area. Moving back in, he changed to short, lapping strokes. Sherlock's breath was getting ragged. Greg wasn't sure if it was because of his ministrations or the no doubt amazing blowjob John was giving him. He didn't care. He tightened his tongue to a point and thrust it into Sherlock's arse. "Nggghhh." It was the most coherent thing Sherlock had said in a while.

Sherlock's cock, meanwhile, was balls-deep in John's mouth, and John was thoroughly enjoying himself. He slicked up his hand and rubbed Sherlock's balls as he sucked on him, his other hand on Sherlock's hip to give him leverage. Getting it all in his mouth had been a challenge. John was fond of challenges. They were so rewarding. He was currently being rewarded by Sherlock thrusting hard into his mouth and making all kinds of wonderful noises.

Greg reached up to Sherlock's mouth and rubbed his lower lip with two moistened fingers. Sherlock greedily sucked them in and began circling them with his tongue, obviously thrilled to have something to do with his mouth. Greg continued working on his arse with his tongue, varying the pressure and rhythm. Sherlock started to moan more constantly now. It sounded like he was getting close.

Greg slicked up one of the fingers on his other hand, and gently rubbed it against Sherlock's arse. Sherlock wiggled back up against it. That was a good sign. Greg slowly thrust the finger deep inside. "NNNNgggggghhhhhh." Much louder this time, and pitched even lower. "Sooooooo good." Greg thrust his finger a couple times and found Sherlock's prostate, and Sherlock, quite simply, lost it. "Yessssss….com….ing…." Sherlock thrust hard into John's mouth, shuddering into him with release. His hips jerked convulsively as he came, but John made sure to keep him in his mouth the whole time, and swallowed his semen with delight. He sucked on him gently for a few more moments, and then released him. He wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand and made his way back up to the top of the bed. Greg joined him there.

Sherlock flopped onto his back, grinning like a fool. His limbs were warm and heavy, but his brain was light as a feather. For the first time in his life, he'd temporarily been robbed of the capacity for rational thought, and it was wonderful. John and Greg were back up with him, warm and snuggling up against him, and Sherlock basked in their glow. His brain was still off somewhere in low Earth orbit, but it had been taking copious notes for him to go over (and over, in glorious detail) later.

John and Greg were grinning happily as well. Not bad for their first threesome…

Greg looked over at John and Sherlock. Sherlock had his eyes closed, and John was using the opportunity to gaze at Sherlock with something approaching sheer wonder. He saw Greg looking and smiled a little sheepishly. Caught. Greg smiled back, realizing that John had lost his heart to Sherlock somewhere back around that first kiss, and it made _him_ happy, as well.

Neither of them knew if the experiments would continue. They were both just hoping Sherlock needed more data.

  


**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to this is [Experiments](http://archiveofourown.org/works/278239).


End file.
